Holding, Hoping, Wishing, Pleading
by PurrPrinThom
Summary: Sara's POV at the end of 'Dead Doll episode 801. It was one of those things I couldn't quite control...I sort of wrote it without thinking and then decided not to change anything because it seemed good the way it was.


The darkness was lifting.

She could feel it getting easier to breathe.

She couldn't remember where she was or why.

Something covered her mouth and its shape was familiar.

An oxygen mask.

She knew it almost instantaneously.

Her senses were dulled and everything took a while to register.

Her arm hurt.

And then, like a cheesy sequence from a movie, everything flooded back.

The girl, the car, the trunk, the glass, her own blood. The ground, an unfamiliar face, the sudden darkness that nothing to do with the fact that it was night. The bind around her wrist, the cold water spraying her face, mindless chatter meant to distract, a sudden drowsiness that caused her to drift away. The weight of a car, the hard ground, the sharp, horrible pain in her arm.

And then the water.

Rain.

Pouring, pooling, flooding, soaking.

The struggle, the tears, the pain, oh the pain.

So much pain.

The plan was obvious: she would drown.

The water rising.

And then, her arm came loose and the pain lessened.

_Escape_.

A joyful sensation, an amazing feeling.

How she felt now, luxuriating the feeling of crisp, clean air filling her lungs was nothing compared to greatness of escape.

The determined mindset that she must leave, she must go on.

Wrapping her arm and walking.

So much walking.

The sand that never ended and the landscape that blended together.

Endless hours of walking, scattered with the memory of tiny rock-figures, meant to be a trail for _him_.

The heat.

The merciless, pitiless, horrible heat.

Burning, blistering, scorching, torturing.

Memories of heat and walking.

So _much_ walking.

And exhaustion.

She had never been that tired before.

Never felt that helpless before.

Never had felt an urge to just _give up_ before.

But she didn't.

And she kept walking.

And climbing the mountainous dunes.

Slowly climbing, her arm throbbing, her head pounding, her feet bruising, her mind crying and her resolve breaking.

As the memories rushed back, her senses returned too.

She could hear.

Voices.

A jumble of unfamiliar voices.

Speaking words that were incomprehensible.

The words became clearer.

But they still made no sense.

Medical words spoken in rushed, harried tones.

Worry, fear and urgency flowed through every voice and pounded in her head.

Noise.

A whirring noise.

Mechanical.

Propellers.

A helicopter.

A medical helicopter.

She remembered collapsing.

She had been found.

She had been saved.

A jolt of the air craft brought feeling back to her body.

_Her hand_.

Being held so gently, the holder seemed to be afraid she would break.

Fingers interlocked with her own.

She could sense worry in whoever was holding her hand.

Holding, hoping, wishing, praying that she would be alright.

That she would survive.

She had a hunch of who it was.

And so she opened her eyes.

It was blurry.

Just like the sand.

Panic almost overwhelmed her.

Everything was just colours.

White.

Blue.

Tan.

Black.

_Black._

The first thing that came into focus was his nametag.

Never had she been happier to see letters in her life.

Never would letters ever mean as much to her.

Letters could never mean as much to anyone, as they did to her now.

Those seven letters, so familiar, so wonderful were a relief.

White and stitched, they were a superb contrast against his black vest.

She felt safe.

Those seven letters had never seemed more beautiful.

She thought them to herself. Reading them slowly, each letter separately, spelling his name before, finally, she said it to herself.

G-R-I-S-S-O-M.

_Grissom._

The memories that his named conjured were brilliant.

Memories so strong it was almost as though she was still there.

Her eyes travelled from his hand, wound up in her, to his arm.

Up his arm, past his elbow, to his shoulder.

Across the shoulder and up the neck.

His face.

His chin, his lips, his nose and his eyes.

She stared at his eyes the longest.

And he stared back.

Because he had been watching.

Because we had been waiting.

He had been studying her face, waiting for some sign of life.

And it had come.

Relief took over his face.

And he smiled a slow, reassuring smile.

She could have cried if she had wanted to.

That was just how relieved she was.

She smiled back, faintly.

But he saw it.

She used her newly regained muscle-control to squeeze his hand in a gesture of love and reassurance.

She would survive this.

He would survive this.

They _had_ survived this.

Because that's who they were.

She was Sara.

He was Gil.

And they were together.

Finally.


End file.
